by John Grit
When they rolled up to the gate, the engine of every truck running rough, they learned those on security had recognized them from a distance, using binoculars. They had the gate open and were waiting for them. Ramiro and others waved as they drove through.
Brian and Nate both noticed the tall berm along the front of the property and the barbwire fence on top. “Looks like they followed your advice,” Brian said.
Nate saw where they had put up scavenged auto headlights in strategic places to illuminate the perimeter in case of night attack. “They’ve been busy all right.”
A young Hispanic man riding in the truck with them spoke up. “We’re not finished yet. We ran out of wire.”
Nate nodded. “I think electrical wire was one of the last things people had on their mind when they were looting in the early days of the plague. There’s a good chance we will find plenty in hardware stores.”
The trucks were parked in front of a building where most of the men slept. Ramiro let everyone but Nate and Brian off, and then drove up to the big two-story house. They were greeted by Ramiro’s wife, Rita. The two held each other for a second. Rita’s eyes revealed relief that her husband had returned safely. She directed her attention to Nate and Brian. “Please prepare for dinner. There is water for you to clean up.” She motioned to the bathroom down the hall, where water had been carried in by hand. “Mrs. MacKay is waiting in the dining room.”
After Ramiro introduced his wife to Nate and Brian, she left, and Nate and Brian took their packs off. They took turns watching their rifles and packs while the other cleaned up in the bathroom.
~~~~
At the dinner table, Mrs. MacKay used the opportunity to bring up a few issues while they ate. “We are running very low on usable diesel. Your trip tomorrow will be the last, unless you can find usable diesel fuel.”
“We are hoping to find some liquid propane, too.” Ramiro drank water from a glass. “The mechanics among us say it’s possible to convert gasoline engines to run on LP.”
“I have heard of that, but didn’t think it was an easy job.” Mrs. MacKay saw something on Brian’s face. “Do you have something to say, Brian?”
Brian’s eyes flashed to his father and back to her. “Yes, Ma’am. They used to make kits to switch engines from gas to LP. LP does not have as much energy as gas, so the engine will not be as powerful, but it will work okay on LP.” He motioned toward Nate. “My Dad did it before.”
“If you’re going to convert gas pickups,” Nate said, “you will need LP tanks of around one hundred pounds and gas line tubing. You will also need tools for fitting the tubing end pieces.”
“Our diesel fuel went bad because it was already so old,” Ramiro said. “Newer diesel should still be good.” He raised a fork loaded with rice and stopped. “We should have treated it with biocides and stabilizers.” He shrugged. “We should have bought more before the plague, but who knew the world was going to suffer like this?” He put his fork down and lowered his chin.
Nate cleared his throat. “Diesel can last ten years if stored properly and water is kept out of the tank, so I’m sure there will be some in town. Your trucks may be running rough because of lack of maintenance as much as old fuel. You need fuel filters; yours might be partially clogged. I would suggest you make a list of things to look for, so we will have it when we leave in the morning. Brian and I have our own list.”
Mrs. MacKay grew serious. “Perhaps you should leave Brian here. The trip could be dangerous.”
Nate did not hesitate. “He stays with me. He may save my life. We’re both safer together.”
Brian’s chest swelled. “Yeah, we’re safer together.”
“Have you asked yourself if the trip is worth the risk?” Mrs. MacKay asked. Personally, I’m still not certain it is. Ramiro and others have told me there are many things we must have, but I fear for the safety of everyone who goes on this trip.”
Ramiro shrugged. “Risk is everywhere.”
Nate put a glass down. “Of course, Brian and I have talked it over. We are thinking of asking you to let us join your group. Going on this trip will demonstrate our trustworthiness. Also, Chet, at Big Oak, informed us by radio that pockets of the country are starting to organize and rebuild local government. I think it’s time we take a look at the nearer towns and see what’s going on.”
Mrs. MacKay seemed to be deep in thought. “Are you asking to join our group tonight?”
Nate answered, “No, not yet. We want to see how things are done around here first.”
“Oh,” Mrs. MacKay said. “Ramiro and others have told me that they wished you two would join us. I felt that you are free spirits, not in the habit of having others make decisions for you.”
“That may be true,” Nate admitted. “Certainly, we must learn your ways before we decide. Other than the fact you are in charge and Ramiro is your foreman, we are not certain exactly what kind of a system you have. We’re thinking maybe it’s a commune.”
Mrs. MacKay and Ramiro both laughed. She held a hand to her chest and caught her breath. “No, we did try something similar in the early days. We learned, to our regret, that some will not work if everyone eats from the same pot. ‘From each according to his means; to each according to his needs’ did not work for us. We would have all starved by now. Our rule is not a hard and fast rule of, if you don’t work you don’t eat, but it’s close to that. We expect even the children to do their part, though; we do not make slaves of them. The smaller ones take naps during the midday and all of them receive some instructions on reading, writing, math, farming, etc.”
“Well, that sounds good. We will have to spend some time with you before Brian and I can decide. You will also have a chance to get to know us better before you decide if you want to let us join.”
“But,” Brian broke in, “I don’t need any schooling. Dad is teaching me how to survive. Maybe they will start new schools someday, but for now, Dad is my teacher.” He looked at his father. “I guess I can forget about being an Air Force fighter pilot. It looks like I’m going to be a farmer.”
Mrs. MacKay gave him a wintry smile. “None of us know what our future holds. You may be a pilot someday.”
Ramiro’s wife walked in and announced to her husband and Mrs. MacKay both, “The children are all asleep.” She grabbed a plate.
Nate stood and motioned for Brian to do the same.
Mrs. Ramiro stood frozen for a second, a look of surprise on her face. “Oh. Please sit down. I apologize for being late. Some the children were not cooperative and did not want to go to sleep.”
Ramiro moved rice closer to his wife. “You work too hard, Rita. Someone else could have put the children to sleep. We do not often get to have dinner together, and tonight we have quests.”
Nate and Brian sat down and finished their meals. The five of them added to their lists of items to look for during the trip and discussed how the waterwheel generator and security plans Nate had given them on the last visit had worked out.
“Brian and I need our sleep. We must be ready to rise before sunup, so we should excuse ourselves now. Thank you for the meal and hospitality.” Nate stood, and Brian followed his example.
Ramiro stood also. “Let me show you where you are to sleep tonight.”
Nate and Brian took their packs and rifles from the corner and followed Ramiro. Nearing the front door, they heard moaning down the hallway. Ramiro whispered, “Slim is not well. His jaw pains him.”
Brian looked worried. “Dad, if he lives, he will hate you.”
They were led to the barracks they had seen earlier. A dozen men were already asleep. Careful not to disturb the snoring men, Nate and Brian found two bunks next to a wall. A wood stove took some of the chill out of the air, but Nate knew they would need their sleeping bags long before sunrise. They slept until Ramiro woke them
Not wanting to be the source of delay, Nate and Brian were outside and standing by the trucks in less than five minutes. They found Kendell s
tanding in the dark by a flatbed truck, stamping his feet against the cold, his hands thrust into the pockets of his worn jacket, a wool cap stretched down over his ears.
Brian said, “Morning.”
Kindell nodded to them both. “Morning. Cold and me ain’t friends. I prefer heat to cold any day.”
“Have any idea where Ramiro is?” Nate asked.
Kindell motioned toward the house. “Eatin’ breakfast. It’ll be our turn in a few minutes. People have to eat in shifts here ‘cause there are too many to all eat at the table at once.” He edged closer. “You have any .308 ammo you can spare? I’m down to my last six rounds.”
Brian looked up at his father, keeping quiet.
Nate said, “Sure.” He took his pack off and dug out a box of rifle ammunition.
Kendell opened the box and stuffed the rounds into his right jacket pocket. “We’re all running low around here. I hope we find some on this trip. It ain’t likely, though. People probably done took it all first thing.”
“Chet has asked several times over the last few months if we could spare any ammo,” Nate said, “so we brought as much as we could carry. Might as well give you guys some if you’re that low.”
Ramiro came out of the house and walked over to them. “Breakfast is waiting for you. Be quick. We want to be on our way soon.”
“Kendell tells me you are running low on ammo,” Nate said. “We have .308 and 5.56 we can spare. We also have a little twelve gauge buckshot.”
“God bless you,” Ramiro said. “This may save lives. Come with me to the house.”
Nate, Brian, Kendell, and several other men followed Ramiro. In the living room, using the dim light from a twelve volt car taillight, Nate and Brian opened their packs and set most of the ammunition they had on the floor. Nate made sure Brian kept plenty of 5.56 ammunition for himself. Men gathered around and each received a box of rifle or shotgun ammunition. The word “gracias” was spoken many times, interspersed with a few “thank yous.” Nate slipped another box of .308 ammunition to Kendell.
Mrs. MacKay and Rita wished them luck as the men readied to leave the table after a quick and meager breakfast. The men all piled onto the trucks and pickups, most had packs of some kind, but a few carried only what they had in their pockets and on their belts. Two trucks were reluctant to start, but they came to life after Ramiro opened the hoods and coaxed them patiently, while another man cussed the engines to turn a sailor’s ears red. Ramiro glanced at the glowing eastern sky and smiled. “Right on time.” He slid behind the wheel of a pickup and led the caravan down the drive. Those on guard saw them coming and swung the gates open for them, yelling encouragements as they drove by.
The cold slipstream chilled everyone but the few riding in truck cabs; they enjoyed the warmth of the heaters and protection from the biting wind. Brian and Nate sat on a spare tire, leaving them sitting higher and more exposed to the chill. Brian pulled his jacket collar up and his boonie hat down. He spoke into his father’s ear, “Someone washed the trucks.”
Nate smiled. “We must look presentable when going to town.”
Brian looked at everyone riding in the pickup with them. “But we are not exactly dressed in our Sunday best.” Several men laughed.
Nate wiggled his big toe through a hole in his left boot. “Keep an eye out for large boots.”
“I will,” Brian said. He looked at his father’s boots. “Good thing you have heavy wool socks.”
They passed many houses that obviously had been ransacked; some had been burned to the ground. They bumped and rattled along at fifteen to twenty-five miles per hour, depending on the condition of the dirt road. Every half mile or so, they were forced to slow to a crawl because of deep ravines cut into the road by heavy rains. They also passed a few abandoned vehicles. All along the way, Ramiro kept an eye out for tire hazards. Nate kept his eyes working the road ahead and woods line for any sign of an ambush. He grew more nervous as Ramiro increased speed.
When a windfall from a large pine tree forced them to stop, Nate jumped down and met Ramiro as he stepped out of the truck cab. “You’re going too fast. I can’t scan the road and tree line ahead worth a damn. Binocs are useless with the truck bouncing so much, and there’s not enough time to scan the area before we’re already there. All it takes is a few killers with rifles to wipe half of us out.”
Ramiro tilted his head. “But we must get to town as soon as possible.” Other men were cutting the windfall into manageable pieces as they talked. “This area was cleaned out by soldiers. I don’t think it is dangerous now.”
Nate knew he was fighting a losing battle. “The National Guard did a good job, but they damn sure didn’t get every crazy in the county, and more are coming in every day. Remember, Brian and I just had to bury most of our friends.”
Ramiro said. “I know your worries are well founded, but we must get to town as soon as possible. What is there to do but grit our teeth and keep moving?”
Nate sighed. He climbed back into the pickup. Some of the men were still removing the windfall, and Nate decided to take advantage of the fact. He grabbed the spare tire and threw it on top of the cab. He got down and searched the cab for rope, finding several cargo straps behind the seat. In a few minutes, he had the spare tire strapped on so tight it would not bounce loose.
Brian jumped down. “Need any help?”
“No,” Nate answered. “I’m finished. Get back in the truck.” He climbed up and helped Brian. “Take your pack off and put it in the corner right behind the cab.” The other men had finished removing the tree and headed for the open tailgate. “Hurry.” Brian put his pack in the corner. “Now lay down crossways behind the cab. Use your pack for a headrest.”
Brian frowned up but did what his father told him. “Shit. This is going to be fun. The truck is going to beat me to death.”
Nate took his pack off and set it down between Brian’s legs to conserve room for the other men. They had plenty of room on the flatbeds, but most of the men wanted to ride in the pickups where they would have more protection from the biting wind. “Keep your carbine on top of you so it will not be beat up.”
“Yeah,” Brian said. “What about me?”
Nate took advantage of the spare tire on top of the cab to steady his binoculars and scanned the road ahead and surrounding area. “This is new territory; we must be careful.”
“You’re the one standing.” Nate looked down at his son and scowled. Brian kept quiet after that remark.
Ramiro got the caravan going again. As the miles went by, they came to more crossroads, and the homes became more numerous with less empty country in between. They did not see a single living human. A cheer rose up when they pulled off of the dirt road and onto a two-lane paved road.
Nate told Brian, “We made it to the hard road. The town won’t be much farther.” Nate had an urge to ring Ramiro’s neck when he sped up to fifty miles per hour. He scanned the road ahead as best he could. I wish we had ridden on one of the flatbeds behind us. Thirty minutes later, Nate pounded on the roof of the cab. “Stop.”
Ramiro slowed to twenty miles per hour but did not stop. “What’s wrong?”
Nate leaned closer to the open window. “The outskirts of the town is just around the corner. Take it slow.”
Ramiro nodded, as he sped up to forty-five. Rounding the curve, he slammed on the brakes when he saw what was ahead. The driver in the flatbed truck following had to swerve to avoid rear-ending them. The other trucks had more time but still left rubber in the road.
A roadblock manned by ten armed men crossed the road and stretched from ditch to ditch, presenting a menacing sight. Every man had a rifle or shotgun pointed at them, resting on pickup hoods or a barricade made of old car tires piled two-deep and five feet high.
Nate’s rifle hung from his shoulder. He was glad he did not have it in his hands. Though more than two hundred yards from the muzzles pointed at him, and well out of range of the shotguns, he was an easy target for any
one halfway competent with a rifle.
Brian sat up. “What’s happening?”
Nate put his empty hands in the air. “Get back down. We have rifles pointed at us. There is nothing you can do. Just stay down.”
Ramiro opened the door and stepped out. “We could turn around, but I would rather talk to them. They probably are just protecting the town.”
One of the Hispanic men sitting in the cab said in Spanish, “The gringos will kill you.” The other man nodded.
“They have not fired a shot yet,” Ramiro said in English. “I am unarmed. They do not seem to be the kind of men who will shoot a man for talking.”
The same man in the cab spoke in Spanish again. “You don’t know. They may shoot you for being too brown.”
Kendell spoke to Nate, “I will stay with Brian, if you want to go with Ramiro. We might be able to make it to the woods if shooting starts.”
Nate spoke to Brian, keeping his eyes on the men down the road, “Put your pack on, but stay low. Kendell, keep low, open the tailgate. You and Brian be ready to roll out the back and run for the woods if anything happens. You will not be able to do anything for me or Ramiro, so don’t bother trying, just get out of here and head home. Keep under cover in the woods.”
“Bullshit,” Brian said.
“Do what I say.” Nate spoke in his no nonsense tone. “I think Ramiro is right about this being people protecting their town, but you never know.” He jumped over the side of the pickup onto the pavement.
“Is it worth the risk?” Brian asked. “There is nothing in that town worth dying for.”
“Ask me later,” Nate answered. “I’ll be barefoot soon, if I don’t find some boots.”
“We are hungry,” Ramiro said, “and our children will be hungrier soon. We need food and many other things.”
